


Deep Within

by neverwondernever (thatgbppfrom10880MP)



Series: Within [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 14:43:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8165549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatgbppfrom10880MP/pseuds/neverwondernever
Summary: A short fic about Melkor resting before a battle.





	

The wind whispered over me, a light and calming caress. I looked to where the great mountain lay beyond, that which connected the land to the sky. The soft breeze continued, the peace before the war. Deep within, my heart longed. It had been so long before I saw the streets of home. Before the age was over, I would return, and this caused great wells of fear.

For now, I enjoyed the gentle wind that played along the land.

Before me, my subjects worked with great fervor. There was the clink of metal on metal, the crackle of wood and the shift of coals, submitting to the heat of the fires. They prepared tools for strength: to build and fortify walls, to craft tools and great machines of weaponry. They created the molds for cheap and quick hand weapons. Animals by the horde were slaughtered for their leather and sinew.

I was beyond it all, for I felt all corners of the land.

I welcomed the breeze that played across me, shifting my clothes. My hair fluttered in response. It was a cool day. A storm came on the horizon and with it the torrents of rain and the harsh whips of the wind. But for now, all was peace and pleasantry.

With half-lidded eyes, I watched my subjects labor with ire. They appeared maddened in their tasks. Steam and smoke rose forth and the air was rich with shouting.

There was one I watched most closely. He shone with sweat and purpose. His hammer fell with precision and skill. He was fire incarnate and his muscles rippled. All worked around him, obeisant and shadowed. He outstripped the mass of laborers and commanded the fullest respect.

He did not bark orders nor crack a whip. He required no voice. It was his talent and drive that demanded all obey him. The way he shaped the metals and stoked the forge gave show of his mastery and therefore his rank.

It gave great pleasure to watch him, even as he worked, it was to fuel the war that was to come. Deep within, I felt a pang of hurt. His skill was not simply for preparation of combat, but to manage a forge, to plan and create. He should be making wonders of the land, not aiding in the harm and destruction of it.

Were it another day, another age, it would be a great pleasure to watch him toil before his anvil. Even so to the nature of his current task, I felt awe, and yet, it was awe paired with regret and sorrow. His talents provided well for war, yet this was unbefitting of him. I yearned for a time when his hands created wonders and joys yet again.

The wind whispered along my ear and I muttered back for it to not disturb me. It remained in its relaxing form, but spoke to me no longer. I had only this day to watch the one before me labor, shining with sweat, shadowed by the great forge before him. I would give no mind to the wind, but nor would I dismiss it, and so it acquiesced and remained silent as its darker and more dangerous brother, the great storm, drew ever nearer.


End file.
